


Juno Steel and The Really, Really Bad Deja Vu

by Robin_Banks



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alien Technology, Juno shows his friends his new emotional stability, M/M, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev simps for Juno Steel, Post-Episode: s02e34-35 Juno Steel and the Soul of the People, Rita is a Good Friend (Penumbra Podcast), Season 1 and 2 Juno was a mess and he knows it, Time Travel Fix-It, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Banks/pseuds/Robin_Banks
Summary: Just as Juno finally has his shit together and things are finally looking up, he gets tossed two years into the past. With both eyes intact and two extra years of memories and character growth, he's gonna do his best to get it right this time.
Relationships: Juno Steel & Sasha Wire, Mick Mercury & Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter, and the next couple after it, take place a few months after The Soul Of The People, but before the last couple scenes. I've wanted to write a time travel fic for this fandom for a while, but I'm the kind of person who has to figure out a way it could work in canon, which meant that I had to make the first few chapters a case fic... so, sorry if that's not what you came here for.
> 
> The time travel itself will be in chapter three, so once that's published, you can technically skip directly to that without reading the set up in the first few chapters- you'll be missing some context if you do, but you don't really need it.
> 
> I'm warning you ahead of time that I won't have a consistent publishing schedule, since I'm in college and classes have started up, but I have the story fully planned out already so I can at least promise that it will be finished and I won't write myself into a corner and have to abandon it.

_One last case_. One last case before Juno Steel, Private Investigator retired for good.

And how does it go?

Well, a few hours ago a ninety year old archaeologist beat me unconscious with a rock because Juno Steel, Private Investigator was too polite to shoot an old lady, and now I’m tied up and locked in an ancient martian tomb for the second time in my life while said old lady activates an ancient martian device with an unknown function just one room over.

So it’s going about as well as most of my cases have, honestly.

I’m getting ahead of myself, though. Let’s go back to yesterday, when all this started.

\----

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the headache I can feel coming on.

“Okay, let me see if I have everything. Someone broke into the Museum of Ancient Martian History. _Twice_. And didn’t steal anything either time. The police investigated, found nothing, and since nothing was broken or stolen, aren’t interested in investigating any further. Right so far?”

“Right so far, Mista Steel!”

“And the museum curator involved, not content with just giving up the investigation, calls us?”

“Yep!”

“Okay, just checking. Rita, we are… _absolutely not taking this case_.”

His secretary and best friend drops her bag of snacks on her desk in favor of wildly motioning with her arms as she speaks.

“What?! But Mista Steel, it’s a classic caper! Aren’t you just being eaten up with curiosity about why someone would break into a museum after hours and not steal anything? I know I am! And I’m not even a detective!” I was, in fact, a little curious. Not enough to change my mind about taking the case, but curious nonetheless. It brought to mind another case I’d taken what felt like a lifetime ago, where an apartment had been broken into and the only clue left behind was a… copy-cat.

“Maybe they’re just not a fan of crowds.”

“Oh, ha ha. C’mon, boss!”

“Look, the last time I investigated a case involving ancient Martian artifacts, I ended up losing an eye. I only have the one left, and I’m pretty attached to it. Besides, why would they call us, of all people? That’s just _way_ too suspicious.”

Rita is uncharacteristically silent for a moment, fingers fidgeting and brushing pink salmon dust off her fingertips and onto her lap.

“Rita? What-“ She interrupts suddenly, words bursting out of her like a water from a failing dam.

“Look, Mista Steel, I wasn’t sure whether to mention this little detail or not, because I wasn’t sure how you’d react and I _really_ wanted you to take this case because I think it’d be good for ya, but they calledusbecausecaptainkhanrecommendedustothemandbossIknowyouandhimdon’tgetalongbut-"

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down, Rita. Can you repeat that… a little slower? I didn’t catch any of that.” Not necessarily true- I had caught a few words, but I must have misheard, because there was no way I heard what I thought I did.

“Well, Mista Steel, apparently the curator wasn’t happy that the police wouldn’t investigate anymore, and they complained so much that Captain Khan, you remember Captain Khan, right? From when that other cop kidnapped you and tied you up in Khan’s basement and then brought you to the museum to stop that robbery and wow it’s funny that you saw him last at a museum huh because that’s where-“

“Rita! Rita, yes, of course I remember Khan. What does he have to do with anything?”

“Oh, he recommended us to the curator! Well actually less of a recommendation and it more along the lines of ‘We’re not wasting anymore time or manpower on this, if you’re looking for someone whose time is less valuable and will be more willing to waste it, call Juno Steel’.”

I snorted at her gruff impression of the police captain’s voice. And yeah, that made more sense. My relationship with the police captain had been a little better ever since the museum fiasco, but definitely not to the point where he would be recommending clients to me without some ulterior motive. Getting a whiny academic to leave him alone? That’s an ulterior motive I could respect. But ‘less valuable’- the nerve of that guy!

“Classic Khan. I’m flattered, honestly. We’re _still_ not taking this case.”

“Pleeeease? It’s been so long since you’ve had an interesting case! Or… any case! You always have a good reason, sure, but… what’s the point of being a private detective if you never, ya know, do any detecting? I mean, you’ve got the ‘private’ part down- Wait, that didn’t sound right-“

“I know what you meant, don’t worry.”

And… she was right. I hadn’t taken a case since the Newtown fiasco. It just hadn’t felt right to do so, for one reason or another. Honestly, I’d been considering whether maybe… maybe it was time to finally move on. I’d been a PI for close to two decades now, but I was different now. Hyperion City was different now, too, and I just didn’t fit the way I was used to. It sometimes felt like I was a puzzle piece that had suddenly been taken out of one box and tossed into another one, a puzzle so similar to the one I was used to that it took me a while to realize it even was a different one.

But if I stopped being a detective, then what was I going to do? I still needed to work somewhere to earn a living, and it wasn’t like there was an abundance of job opportunities available for-

Oh.

Suddenly, for the first time in months, I remember the comm in my safe. There was one job opportunity there, if I was willing to take it. But...

But Rita.

After everything we’d been through together, the thought of leaving her behind was unthinkable. I’d have to invite her along, obviously, but what if she didn’t want to leave Mars? If she couldn’t be convinced to join a bunch of thieves and criminals by my side, then would I be willing to stay here for her?

I just wasn’t sure. And that terrified me.

So… I guess I’d take this case. Just one last case, for old time’s sake. Anything to stall that conversation just a little bit longer.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll take the case.” Rita squealed and did a little victory dance.

“Yes! I knew ya would, Mista Steel! Ooh, this is gonna be so interesting, I can already tell!” I smile at her excitement, but the soft smile fades a little as I sigh and speak up again.

“But, uh, Rita? After this case wraps up, I need to talk to you about something.” Rita’s smile fades as well, pausing in her dance and giving me a concerned look that twisted something in my gut. I hate worrying her, but… this is something I have to do.

“Boss?” I give her a brief, reassuring smile and pat her shoulder.

“It’s nothing to worry about! I just wanted to let you know now so that you can hold me accountable later. Don’t let me weasel my way out of that conversation, alright? I’m relying on you.”

If I didn’t give Rita this heads up, I know what would happen. I’d stall, take one case and then another, and before I knew it I would be back to business as a PI. I’d be miserable, and I would hate it, but if it let me avoid an uncomfortable conversation, avoid upsetting Rita…

_We may look back, only to ensure we have not walked this path before._

I’m different, changed. I’m better, now, than I was before. And that means I rely on others when I know that I can’t do something alone. So, that’s what I’m doing now. Relying on others. And I think Rita realizes how big this is, that I’m doing that, because the proud smile she gives me is blinding.

“You can count on me! Reliable is my middle name, boss!”

“…I’m just now realizing that it very well might be. How have I known you for, damn, seventeen years? And never learned your middle name?!”

“A lady has to keep some secrets, you know that Mista Steel!”

“Okay, but seriously. Rita? What is your middle name? Rita!”

\----

The Museum of Ancient History, while a bit smaller than the Museum of Colonized History, was much more popular, and located in a more central location than the latter. This is likely because, for some reason, most people find mysterious, technologically advanced alien civilizations to be more interesting than urban planning records and outdated space shuttles.

Or maybe the more central location is because the people responsible at the time realized that a building full of priceless artifacts was likely to attract thieves, and putting it on the outskirts with the other museum, where police response times were pathetic at best, would be tempting fate a _little_ too much.

Whatever the reason, I was just relieved that my destination was a reasonable distance from the office. I didn’t exactly have a car at the moment, nor did Rita, so my transportation options were limited to walking or taking a cab- and in Hyperion City, cabs are unhygienic at best and a quick and easy way to be a dead body in a ditch at worst, so they tend to be a last resort.

The building itself was unimpressive- sandwiched between a credit union and an art gallery, and topped with a rooftop restaurant where even the appetizers cost enough to put me in debt for a few years, just like a dozen other buildings within eyesight. It was Hyperion’s typical behemoth of steel and tinted glass, and the only way I could tell that I had arrived at the right address was the elaborate plaque on the front doors, reading in big letters ‘ _Hyperion City Museum of Ancient History_ ’, and in smaller font beneath that, ‘ _Brought to you by the Kanagawa Corporation_ ’.

No surprise there: the Kanagawa family had their money and influence in every corner of this city. It didn’t necessarily mean that they were involved with this _particular_ case, but it was enough to make me wary, just in case.

Stepping through those doors into the museum, I could see that the building designers had put the Kanagawa’s money to good use. The museum was elegant and modern, while still clearly drawing inspiration from the ancient Martian structures that all the artifacts in the building had been claimed from. The walls and floors were lined with red marbled tiles polished to a glossy shine, with enough brass and grey accents throughout the room to keep it classy rather than tacky.

Looking up from where I was in the main entrance hall, I could see catwalks and platforms crisscrossing through open air, going up the twenty-odd floors all the way to the ceiling far above. Staring up at the sight for too long could give a lady vertigo, so I didn’t do it for too long.

There were screens everywhere, as well. Some displayed maps of the museum, others advertised new exhibits and recently acquired artifacts. Some displayed content totally unrelated to the museum- advertising the newest Cecil Kanagawa original, in the case of several particularly large screens.

Unfortunately for me, none of the screens advertised the way to the curators offices, which was where I was supposed to be meeting my client. I didn’t particularly want to approach any of the seven foot tall, heavily muscled security guards that were politely and unobtrusively lurking in various shadows and corners of the building to ask for directions, so I navigated my way through the crowd in the main hall towards where I thought I could see a customer service terminal.

Sure enough, at the other end of the main hall was the kind of help center that you’d expect from any properly funded building in the 25th Century. Sixteen computer terminals that are just slightly outdated, more than half of which are out of order, and one single, _very_ stressed nineteen or twenty year old manning a desk, juggling three sets of comms, and trying to do the work of five people.

A few families were over here on the terminals, but fortunately, there was no line at the manned desk. I walked over and waited patiently, fiddling with the settings on my own comm until the young man finally finished with his several comm calls and waved me closer.

“How can I help you, today?”

“Hey, yeah. I’m supposed to meet with a Mx. Dionysa Warner, but I’m not sure where their office is?” One of the comms on the desk started beeping. The worker glanced at it before responding, choosing to ignore it for the moment.

“One moment.” They tapped something into their computer, paused for a second. Then a responding beep from the monitor. “Juno Steel?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” The other two comms on the desk start beeping as well. The young’s man’s eye twitches, but he maintains a polite smile. 

“They’re expecting you. Mx. Warner is waiting for you in the Hall of Religion and Rituals, on the ninth floor. Have a nice day.”

As soon as they finished helping me, they hurriedly answered their comms. Happy to leave them to their work, I made my way to the elevators, which I had passed on my way over.

I wedged myself in with a large group, managing to claim a position near the buttons so that I could press the number nine. On the request of someone behind me, I also pushed the number twelve. With the distraction of the chattering kids and the cramped position I was wedged into, it was easier than usual to avoid looking down through the glass floor at the height we soon found ourselves at.

In seconds the elevator reached my floor, and I eagerly stepped out of the overly full contraption onto solid, thankfully _not transparent_ ground.

From there, it wasn’t hard to find my client. Even if I hadn’t had Rita pull up a photo of them for me before I headed over, they were the only person on this floor standing impossibly still and straight as they typed something into their comm, as though someone had shoved a rod up- well, you get the idea. They looked very strict, their long white hair pulled back into a bun so tight it gave me a migraine just looking at it, their suit so crisply ironed someone could cut themselves on its creases. I could already tell that this client would be a pain to deal with, but it was too late to back out now- they noticed me almost immediately.

Later, I would almost wish that I had just turned around and walked back into the elevator, but… I didn’t. I made eye contact with Mx. Warner as I approached, smiled, and sealed my fate.


	2. Chapter 2

I followed the client on an unofficial tour of the floor, listening with half an ear as they explained the various exhibits we passed.

I wanted to speak up and request that they just get to the point and tell me what they knew about the break in, but paying attention to Warner’s body language, they seemed to be more interested in my reactions than the exhibits themselves. That’s when it occurred to me that they were trying to get a read on me- they had called me on Khan’s recommendation, sure, but they had probably done research on me first.

They probably hadn’t liked what they had seen from that research, but were desperate enough to give me a chance anyway. This was their way to see if I was as insufferable as I was advertised to be. If it turned out I was, they would likely seek out another PI instead- police chief recommended or not, they didn’t seem the type to put up with unnecessary bullshit.

So I waited patiently. Eventually we reached a set of doors and the curator stopped, pulling out their tablet. I could have sworn we’d passed this door twice already, but decided not to mention it. It seemed we were getting to business, finally.

“According to security footage, the intruder entered this exhibit room, and exited ten minutes later. Three minutes after that, our security comes by to investigate the disturbance, but by then the perpetrator is gone.” Ten minutes. Long enough for a skilled intruder to do a whole lot.

I was surprised that it had taken a place as secure as this thirteen minutes, not even counting the time required for the intruder to get to this room after entering the building, to respond to an intrusion. There were a dozen cameras just in plain sight from where I was standing, and probably another two dozen that I _couldn’t_ see.

“And let me guess, all cameras and other surveillance in the room were disabled, and any surveillance that _did_ capture them didn’t get their face or any defining features.”

“Precisely. In fact, the museum’s surveillance in all areas the intruder went through was disabled just long enough for whoever this is to get in and get out- _fortunately for us_ , after the first break-in revealed that there was such a severe flaw in our security, we invested in a second set of cameras running on a totally separate, heavily encrypted system in case someone else tried to take advantage of that same flaw again. Fully implementing a back-up camera system takes a long time unfortunately, so in the time between the first and second break-ins we only had time to put them in the high priority exhibits and a handful in various places on each floor.”

“Clever. Okay, would you mind sending the footage you _do_ have to my-“ _Don’t say secretary Juno, don’t say secretary. Clients don’t like it when you tell them to send their confidential security files to your secretary._ “-tech expert?” _Nice._

“The police have already had their best look at the footage, as have our own security. I doubt that whatever… _expert_ you have will be able to find something that everyone else missed.”

“Hey, maybe so. But it couldn’t hurt, right?” I _dearly_ wanted to make some smart comment about the competence of the police, or get defensive about Rita’s skill, but I knew doing so was probably a quick way to have the client change their mind about having me on this case. I had to remind myself that I was trying to prove that I wasn’t _completely_ insufferable. Still, one more comment like that and I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself- I wasn’t a _saint_.

“…Fine. But I sincerely hope that you aren’t planning to put all your eggs in that basket, detective.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. So, do you mind if I…” I motioned towards the room in question, whose door was locked with a _Closed for Maintenance_ sign posted on it - most likely to keep the general public from contaminating the crime scene, since I can’t imagine a locked door and an out of order sign would do much to deter any intruder if they returned a third time.

“Oh, of course.” They entered a command on their tablet to unlock the door, which slid open to reveal the exhibit within.

Fortunately for my investigation, it turned out to be a relatively small room. The theme of this particular exhibit seemed to be Ancient Martian life cycles- the room was circular in design with a large… something on a platform in the center, engraved arrows on the floor indicating that guests were intended to walk a clockwise path through the exhibit.

Just to get a feel for the room, I went ahead and followed said arrows- examining the displays around the perimeter of the room as I did.

Roughly the first third of information and artifacts displayed and explained seemed to be devoted to Martian birth and childhood. Holograms of artifacts that resembled learning tools- though much more complex than their human counterparts- were on display, with notes telling where in the museum the actual artifacts could be found. Large carvings showing what could definitely be a classroom setting, if you used your imagination. A hologram of a thin, barely preserved material located somewhere else in the museum that was covered in Martian symbols roughly and unevenly marked over and over, compared to a photo of those same symbols in their usual neat and clean display- an unskilled hand practicing their letters, perhaps.

There was one large plaque for this section, as well as smaller ones devoted to each individual artifact. The main plaque drew my curiosity, since I couldn’t help but remember that while trapped by Miasma all those months ago, I had seen quite a bit of evidence suggesting that ancient Martians were all clones of each other. While I didn’t _think_ that such a thing was common knowledge, I couldn’t help but wonder how much _was_ actually known about the topic of Martian reproduction.

One particular paragraph caught my eye:

_While no carvings or mention of infant Martians have ever been discovered, theories are abundant among anthropologists. Many believe that the ancient Martians kept their young a closely guarded secret, building their nurseries in highly hidden and to this day undiscovered locations. Others suggest that before reaching maturity, young Martians may have looked so completely different from their adult version that archaeologists have mistaken them for something else. Some even propose that Martian reproduction is so completely different from anything humans have ever encountered that the answer is right in front of our noses and we are just incapable of comprehending it._

So that answered my question- nothing was known on the topic. Although, that last bit- was it possible that the ‘some’ in question knew more than they were letting on?

Something to think about if I ever get a quiet moment, I guess.

The rest of the room discussed Martian adulthood, old age, and death. And after walking around and reading all the information offered, I realized that in essence, every single plaque said the same thing. They all, very elegantly and scientifically, said “we have no actual evidence and no idea what any of this is or how any of this shit worked, so we made a guess and put together this random assortment of items that kind of support our theories if you believe us about what they are”.

Which, I mean, they were trying to interpret the life cycle of an alien species that vanished thousands of years ago and left no bodies behind, so I couldn’t blame them, but still- it was the most thorough piece of bullshit I’d seen since my sixth grade science fair project, and I couldn’t help but be impressed. Still, no wonder museum security hadn’t considered this exhibit “high priority” enough to put extra security in here.

Looking around the room, I couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t really anything… worth stealing. I mean, I’m no expert of course, so take this with a grain of salt- but aside from like, _maybe_ historical value? Everything in the displays around the perimeter of the room seemed worthless. No precious metals or jewels, no fancy technology or elaborate artifacts belonging to a royal, no unique pieces of art… just stone carvings, semi-translated texts, and photographs and holograms of artifacts in other parts of the museum. It was, possibly, the most boring exhibit in the museum- unless there was a Hall of Ancient Martian Tax Laws that I had missed on the map somewhere.

No wonder the police weren’t interested in investigating any further.

There was only one thing in the room I hadn’t looked at yet, and I had intentionally saved it for last- hoping that the other contents of the room would give it some context because it was the one thing here that didn’t have any sort of plaque next to it. Unfortunately, no context was to be found.

It was a huge dark stone block, with metal lines etched through the surface in geometric patterns not unlike a circuit board. You know, if a circuit board weighed three tons. Martian symbols were carved around the base, and if I stood on my tiptoes and looked at it from a slight distance, I could see that on top of the block was a vaguely humanoid depression in the stone, as if someone was meant to lay on it.

If I was an optimist, I’d guess it was a bed, or maybe some kind of medical, hospital-cot-thing. Because I’m not, my first guess is probably sacrificial altar.

“Hey, uh, what’s this? I can’t find the name tag.”

“…Ah. That.” _Wow,_ that was a _lot_ of distaste for one rock. One point for sacrificial altar?

“Yeah, the uh, central object in the room? I’m guessing it’s not just here to fill space, right?”

“It may as well be. If it were up to me, I’d have it put in a different part of the museum.” It’s hard to hear, but I could swear I heard them mumble ‘ _Like the basement_ ’. “The honest truth is that there are a lot of… _disagreements_ amongst experts as to what exactly that is.” I raised my eyebrow and pointed.

“But… isn’t that Martian writing all around the base? Can’t you just… translate it, and find out what this thing is?”

The curator gave me a look so deadpan that I almost flinched.

“Of course, why didn’t _we_ think of that.” They sighed and motioned at the writing. “Three main issues with that idea. First off, translating ancient Martian isn’t as simple as you seem to think it is. The Martians didn’t _exactly_ leave us a Rosetta Stone. The amount of Martian words we have the ability to recognize and translate- and this is after over a century of specialists from all over working on the subject, mind you- is a little over one hundred. And a lot of those are the Martian equivalent of adverbs and prepositions. It is quite literally an _alien language_ , detective.

“Secondly, from what little we _can_ translate, the carvings on the base aren’t instructions or descriptions. Supposedly the person who has the object was expected to already know what they had and how to use it, or else its use was so simple and obvious that they didn’t need to explain it.” Okay, yeah that… that made sense. It wasn’t like humans engraved item descriptions into everything in their house, after all.

Well, most humans didn’t. When I visited Mick Mercury a few weeks ago, to check in on him after everything, I found that the guy had gone a little overboard with a label maker in his apartment for some reason even Mick _himself_ wasn’t sure about.

“If they’re not instructions or descriptions, then what are they?”

“Hard to say, without context. A quote? A warning? A family motto? Like I said before, there’s a lot of debate about it.”

“Okay. Alright, fine. You said three things- what’s the third?”

“The carvings themselves- they’re not in great shape. When we found this thing, the chamber it was in was partially collapsed, and the object had ended up exposed to the elements for who knows how long. We preserved it as well as we could, but some of the symbols are faded to the point where it’s hard to say whether they used to look like this or like that, and a lot of Martian symbols look fairly similar- making translation even more of a guessing game than usual.

“For instance, the word ‘king’ is only one symbol away from meaning ‘moon phase’- and a few years ago, a pair of archaeologists made that very mistake. They came across what they thought was a royal genealogy chart, which would have been an incredible, career-making find- only to find out after months of restoration work and far too many credits invested in their project that it was a lunar calendar.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Yes, unfortunate is one word for it I suppose. They still hadn’t recovered from that, last I heard. But we’ve gotten off track- you wanted to know about this… brick, yes?”

“You said you don’t think it should be in this exhibit, but it’s here anyways, sooo… why is that?” Warner’s knuckles go white as they tighten their grip on the tablet in frustration and begin to explain.

“That would be because the head of the museum puts more stock in one particular theory about this object than they really should. That theory is based on a partial translation of the base, which as I told you has _more than a bit_ of guesswork involved.” They sigh and pull up a file on their tablet.

“The partial translation mentions _vitality_ or maybe _youth_ , something about _replenishing_ or _returning_ or _replacing_ \- it’s the same word, we usually can figure out from context what exactly is meant, but it’s difficult- something about _flaws_ or _mistakes_ or _illness_? A word that we think means _essential_ or _urgent_ , but hasn’t really been confirmed since we don’t see it very often. There’s a bit more, something about the sun, _maybe_ something about death or an end… but do you see what I mean about translation being a lot of guesswork?”

“Yeah, now I do. That all makes literally no sense to me. What’s the theory, then? Ooh, no, wait. Let me guess first, I love puzzles. The rock was used to summon naughty Martian teenagers who were out and about being rebellious and causing trouble.” The corner of the curator’s mouth twitches up into the first smile I’ve seen on their face so far, small as it is.

“…Not quite, but that theory makes about as much sense as the actual one. It was developed by a few researchers and experts that I really thought were more respectable than to promote such ridiculousness, but…” They roll their eyes. “The theory is that the rock was used in a ritual to restore youth and vitality to aging Martians, and _that’s_ why we never found any evidence of Martians dying of old age or giving birth- that when a Martian got too old, they would just be _made young again_ , so to keep their population stable they chose not to reproduce very often. Or maybe the other way around- that the species became sterile, so they developed anti-aging technology out of necessity.”

“And that’s why it was put in this room. If all that’s true, it would fill in a lot of blanks in the information of the Martian life cycle. Pretty neat, Mx. Curator.” And not as far-fetched as they seemed to believe. I was perfectly willing to believe that a species that can develop cloning, teleportation, and a weapon that completely destroys anything with a specific DNA signature could probably figure out a way to reverse the aging process.

“That’s my issue with the theory, detective. It’s too neat. Nothing is ever that neat- the only time it is is when someone has specifically tailored it to fill in the gaps. But no one cares what _I_ think on the topic- I only have a Masters degree in this field, after all.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of Occam’s Razor? Just because the answer is easy doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” At Warner’s poisonous glare I quickly backtrack. “Not that I think they’re right, necessarily!”

“I am intimately familiar with Occam’s Razor, detective. You are hardly the first person to tell me something along those lines. But I _really_ don’t think it applies here- I hardly think that the simplest answer to why we haven’t found evidence of Martians giving birth is that they moved past the need for reproduction because they invented age-reversal technology.”

I acknowledged the fact that they are probably right about that. I’ve gotten used to accepting some absolutely buck wild explanations for things over the past couple years, though- I had just kind of gotten desensitized to it at this point. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that my definition of a reasonable explanation is a bit skewed.

“Okay, so this feels like stating the obvious, but whoever broke in here clearly wanted something to do with Miracle Rock over here. Either that or they are the most boring intruder in the history of trespassing and I’m not sure I’m equipped to deal with someone like that.” At the curator’s offended scoff, I give a half-hearted ‘sorry’, deep in thought.

“But in order to want something to do with Miracle Rock, they’d have to know what it is. There’s no sign or plaque about it in here- has there ever been?” I glanced over at my client, who shook their head, a smug expression on their face.

“ _Of course not_. The museum head might be able to go over my head about putting the damned thing in here, but as curator how I display the artifacts in my halls is ultimately up to me. And since I _refuse_ to promote their half-baked theory, and I’d get in trouble if I put any _contradicting_ information on a plaque for the thing, I simply… never got around to having a plaque made.”

“Hell yeah, stick it to the man.” I offered them a fist bump, but they simply gave me a confused look in response. My face warm from embarrassment, I lowered my fist awkwardly. Clearing my throat, I continued. “Anyways, that works in our favor now. It reduces our suspect list from _literally everyone who has ever been to this museum_ to just _everyone familiar with the theory about what this thing was supposed to do_. How many people would you say that is?”

“Well, everyone who has worked at the museum in the past decade has probably heard me arguing about it at some point. So, that’s about two thousand people. Then you’ve got Martian experts who don’t work for the museum- probably another four thousand, there. Then triple that, because you have to account for the fact that some people have probably mentioned it offhand to close friends or family at some point.”

So, around eighteen thousand people. While not the _worst_ suspect list I’ve ever worked with, it’s still pretty bad. I really _, really_ hope Rita finds something on those security recordings that everyone else missed.

Can’t let the client know I’m worried, though. That’s bad for business.

“Hey, that’s better than we had before. You mind if I get closer to the thing? I promise I won’t break it.”

“Why not. Don’t touch it, though- the oil from your fingers isn’t good for the stone. Here, wear these.” They gingerly pulled a pair of gloves out of their pocket and handed them to me. I took that as an open invitation to touch the thing as much as I like as long as I have gloves on, and tugged them on as I ducked under the silk dividing rope and hopped up onto the platform with it.

The thing is more impressive when you’re up close and personal with it, I have to say. The top of the stone was about on level with my eyebrows, so if I wanted to get on top of it I’d need a stepstool. Fortunately, tall, dark, and mysterious is how I like my romantic partners, not my beds-slash-sacrificial altars, so I couldn’t see that being an issue anytime soon.

I circled around the stone, keeping an eye out for anything out of place or strange- well, stranger than one would reasonably expect considering what the object was.

At first I was concerned that I’d have to give it up for a bad job. I’d been circling the damned thing for almost half an hour at that point, poking at one imperfection or another suspiciously, and Warner was starting to get impatient.

The rock looked totally untampered with, and it didn’t make sense. Someone had risked Kanagawa-level security to break into this room, specifically. Twice, even, assuming that their first visit wasn’t to a different exhibit altogether. The only thing of interest in this room was the rock. If they just wanted to look at it, they could have visited the museum during regular business hours. Since they didn’t, that means that they were doing something that they weren’t supposed to be doing. Tampering with the artifact, for example. That all tracked- so where was the evidence of tampering? I just couldn’t see-

Oh. Well, I hoped this hunch was wrong, but just in case-

I pulled out my comm and called Rita.

“Heya boss, what’s goin on? I’m looking at the security footage like you asked, and I’ve got a couple leads I think but it’ll take some doing to actually get anything out of them!”

“This isn’t about that. Well, okay, that’s a lie, it kind of is. Rita, based on that footage- if you had to make a guess, how tall would you say our late night visitor was?”

“Hmm… Let me look at ‘em again, real quick. Oh! They’re taller than the Pirate Lord of Pallas- the original one, not the hack they replaced ‘im with after the sixth movie- and shorter than the Abominable Sunbeast from this stream I was watching last weekend-“ I cut in before she could give me the full plot summary.

“Okay, and what is that in Juno-language?”

“More than six foot four, but less than six foot seven.” I sigh. Unfortunately, that fit with my hunch. It’s not Rita’s fault, though.

“Thanks Rita, don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“ _Awwwe, Mista Steel!_ ”

“It’s true and you know it.”

“Well yeah, but you rarely say it! Alright boss, I’ve gotta get back to hunting down my leads.”

“Alright, talk to you later-“

“Ooh, wait! Before I go- Could you get me something from the museum gift shop while you’re there? Oh, I love museum gift shops- there’s so much cool, unique-“ I couldn’t help but chirp in.

“- _overpriced_ -“

“-cute stuff! Oh, _be quiet_ boss. But would you? _Please_??” I couldn’t see the puppy dog eyes I knew she was making, but they were effective nonetheless.

“Of course.”

“Thanks! Okay, bye for real this time.” The comm beeped once as the call ended. I carefully put away “Juno Steel, best friend and big softie” and brought back “Juno Steel, hardboiled detective”, mentally preparing myself for what I had to do next.

It would be tough. It might even be painful, but you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do to solve a case.

“Mx. Warner?”

“Yes?”

“Do you… hm. Do you know where I could find a stepstool?”

Eye contact. A pause.

I refused to look away first, even as I could see their eyes filling with laughter and the corner of their mouth twitching. I had to stand my ground. I had to maintain my dignity. Five foot five is a perfectly respectable height, I told myself. Nothing to be ashamed of. Every good Detective has to use a step stool once in a while-

I sighed. Yeah, no. I know when I’m lying to myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get further in the plot this chapter, but the word count was already almost double last chapters word count so I decided to stop. We should still be able to get to the time travel by the end of next chapter, if all goes well. 
> 
> Also, Juno being below average height is basically canon at this point and I love it. I've seen some people take that to mean like, real short, but I decided to make him just a little shorter than my own height. For comparison, the curator is six foot even. Nothing against people who are 5'5" and shorter- I just think Juno seems like the kind of person who would be self-conscious about his height, and probably owns a lot of heels.


	3. Chapter 3

“Whoa, really? _A hidden compartment?_ That’s _crazy_ , boss. It’s like something out of a stream!” Rita snuggled her new stuffed toy death centipede close to her chest.

Sure enough, once I had been given a bit of a height boost, I was able to quickly find the signs of tampering I had been looking for. Turns out, what the intruder had been doing involved the side that I hadn’t been able to investigate- the top.

I had quickly found rather recent-looking gouge marks in the stone near one of the metal lines, as though someone had scraped a prybar or knife along the surface. After checking to make sure that the curator wasn’t paying too close attention, I removed my blade from my sleeve and pried a bit at the edge of the metal- following the marks left by the intruder- and hoped I wasn’t about to break the damn thing. I had barely applied any pressure when, with a hiss, a large section of the top of the rock came open.

The compartment had been cleverly disguised, whether purely for aesthetic reasons or for secrecy I couldn’t say, by being held shut at metal seams hidden among the other metal lines on the thing. Looking inside the compartment had revealed an extremely dense and complex mechanism within the deceivingly simple-looking block.

I’m no engineer, but even to me it had been clear that there were blank areas in the otherwise dense machine that were supposed to house components that were at some point removed. Though it’s hard to be sure how complete the mechanism had been when the museum originally found it, I had a feeling that some- if not all -of the missing pieces had been taken by our intruder.

So that explained why the intruder broke into and out of a museum without stealing anything. They _didn’t_ \- they just stole things that the museum didn’t know they had.

I’d answered one question I had about the case, but in the process was left with many more.

How could the thief have known what the device hid? If they had worked on the block directly as a museum employee, they would surely have shared their discovery. Unless they intended all along to steal the components within? _But why?_ The components were likely useless without the rest of the device, and if the intent was to pawn them, there were many other things- probably of higher value- in the museum that could have been taken instead.

“Yeah, definitely. Can’t remember the last time I had a case involve one of those. So, how are things going on your end? Any of your leads panning out?”

“Well, I _might_ have something- while I was watching the video, I couldn’t help but notice that the boots the intruder were wearing looked kinda familiar- you see how they have that really distinctive stripe here? And those buckles _there_ and _there_ \- so I tried to remember where I saw them before, and then I remembered that Frannie has a pair just like them! So I thought to myself _“oh those are actually really cute, I wonder where I could get a pair”_ so I called Frannie and asked her where she got _hers_ -“

“Rita, I _really_ hope this tangent has something to do with the case.”

“It does, be patient! -And it turns out that _no dice_ , I couldn’t buy them anywhere! Because they were only sold for about a month because the designer ended up getting on someone’s bad side and ended up in _Hoosegow!_ And the same really powerful people who were responsible for them getting arrested worked really hard to get all their stuff off the market and ruin their name so that the designer wouldn’t be able to make any profits and would be basically penniless when they eventually got out of jail. Which is just _so cruel,_ Mista Steel, I couldn’t believe it when I realized-“

“Rita. The case.”

“Right, so, at first I was really disappointed, but then I remembered why I was researching those boots in the first place! So I decided to look into how many pairs of those boots were sold before they were discontinued- and it was only about a thousand pairs! And since I knew these boots were pretty expensive from what I had heard from Frannie, I figured that basically no one buying something that high-end would pay in cash, ya know? So there would probably be names connected to most of those orders. I went into the company records and looked into it, and _I was right!_ And then I checked out the names on that list to see if they were even still on the planet- and based on social media, travel records and stuff I managed to eliminate almost a whole third of the list!”

So Rita _had_ been more successful than me in narrowing down our suspect list, thankfully. “Any chance someone on that list has a background or career related to Ancient Martians?”

“Boss, do you have _any idea_ how long it’s going to take to figure that out?!”

“…No, no I don’t. How long are we talking?”

“Not long at all. I already did it.” Rita smiled smugly up at me from her seat behind the desk.

“…You could have led with that.”

“But it wouldn’t have been nearly as dramatic! You of all people know how important that is.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“…Yeah, alright. Back on track, though- what did you find?”

“We have eleven possible matches. Here, I printed out everything I could find on each of them.”

Flipping through the pages in each file Rita handed me, I saw a very wide spread of possible suspects. A pretty wide spread of ages, too- the youngest being 23 and the oldest 104. There were actors, professors, museum employees… even an author. No one immediately jumped out as an obvious suspect, unfortunately, so I’d have to go over each file carefully if I wanted to have any chance of narrowing it down any further.

After a few hours of scanning the files and having Rita look up additional information when necessary, I narrowed it down to two files.

Sanjiv Fontaine, 32 years old. A stream actor whose main role currently was in a show called _Modern Aliens- Fact or Fiction_ , which frequently filmed segments of the show in the museum. Took several classes about Ancient Martians when he was in college, and works closely with experts on the subject while filming his show. Email records show direct correspondence with the museum researchers involving the Miracle Brick a few years ago, regarding their translations- apparently, he had considered doing a segment on it before changing his mind.

Cynthia Majors, 90 years old. An archaeologist and history professor who finished the last dig of her career several months ago, and is now officially retired. The goal of that final dig had apparently been to uncover suspected hidden rooms in already discovered Martian tombs, but dig records report the dig being wholly unsuccessful. Though no record exists of her ever interacting with the research on the Miracle Brick, she did often work with Museum researchers during her career.

So, one of these two suspects definitely has more motive to steal parts from a machine that is supposed to make you young again. But a ninety-year-old, breaking into a museum without being caught by security? It just felt unlikely.

But without more information to go on, I really could not say which was the true culprit- and there was always the chance, _however slim,_ that _both_ were innocent.

If there was more information out there in the digital world, Rita would have found it. So, I’d have to take my investigation into the physical world.

I needed to tail my suspects.

But I would need help to follow two people at once, and I knew just the person to help me. The problem was, after the fiasco that happened last time I asked her for help on a case, I wasn’t sure she’d be willing to even talk to me.

In fact, now that I thought about it, I wasn’t even sure if she knew I was still alive. When she saw me last, I had gotten myself stranded in the middle of the Martian desert with absolutely zero radiation protection. Once I came back to the city there was too much going on to contact her, and after everything eventually calmed down I just… put off calling her. Was it because of guilt? Embarrassment? Who knows.

I spent a bit of time weighing my options, and decided that this definitely called for an in-person visit, regardless of the damage my fellow PI would no doubt do to my face upon seeing me again. If I called her, she would just hang up, and I really did need her help this time. I couldn’t follow two people by myself, and the more time that passed after the robbery the greater chance that the thief would do whatever they were planning on doing with the stolen goods, and put them beyond recovery.

So I’d have to go see her, and I’d have to do it soon. It was around the time that most people would be eating dinner, and unless she was on a case, Alessandra Strong should be home right now.

“Hey Rita, can you pull up an address for me?”

\----

An hour later, I found myself seated at Strong’s kitchen table, nose bloody and probably broken from the welcoming punch the detective had immediately thrown at my face. She had shouted at me for a while about thinking I was dead, about how she had been left to make her way back to the city all alone. She had calmed down slightly since then, still pissed for obvious reasons, but she _had_ brought me an ice pack and a towel for my face so I figured I had made it through the worst of it.

I explained to her the basics of what had happened, not going too in detail about it but enough for her to get a picture of why I was alive and also missing an eye. After my explanation, she looked like she wanted to punch me again, but thankfully restrained herself.

“So, why are you here? I know it’s not a social call, if you cared about shit like that I would have seen you weeks ago. Please tell me you’re not stupid enough to actually be asking me for help on another case.”

“…I’m not stupid enough to actually be asking you for help on another case.” Despite the charismatic grin I sent her way, Strong scowled at me.

“Goddamn it, Steel.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Why should I help you? I’ve worked with you twice and both times you ended up doing something stupid that should have killed you. I’m done being surprised by the attempted suicide shit!”

When she put it all out on table like that, it did sound pretty bad. I knew already that my self-sacrifice schtick was problematic, but even still I hadn’t fully comprehended just how much it affected the people around me- especially the people who helped me get myself into situations that allowed me to put myself needlessly into danger. Before I could end up in a guilty spiral, I shook myself out of it.

“Noted, but what if I told you that this was going to be my last case?” On my walk over, I had considered what arguments I could use to convince Strong to help, and in the end determined that this was probably my best option. As expected, she looked extremely surprised. What I did not expect was for that expression to be immediately replaced with rage.

“For fucks sake Steel, that’s not what I meant! Warning me ahead of time that you’re going to try and kill yourself isn’t any better!”

_Oops._

I quickly defused the situation by clarifying. “Not like that! I meant I’m retiring after this case. Turning in the metaphorical badge.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah.” For the first time since I’d walked in, she sat down. She looked completely caught off guard, and I didn’t blame her. _Juno Steel_ , making a responsible decision? No one could have seen it coming.

“I’m not going to ask why, that’s none of my business, but… do you know what’s next for you, after you’re done with all this?” _Are you sure?_ She was asking. _Have you really thought this through?_

“I mean, only vaguely. I have another job lined up, sort of, if that’s what you mean, but… whatever ends up happening, I just know that it can’t be worse than staying here and doing this until I end up in a cold ditch somewhere. Or even a warm ditch.”

“That’s fair. Ok, one last case- and you have to promise not to do anything stupid to get yourself killed this time. If you do, even if you survive I’m going to hunt you down and kill you myself.”

“I promise I will use my recently gained common sense and will to live to good use and not do something stupid to get myself killed during this case.” She nods.

“Alright, I’m in. What’s the case?”

As I filled her in on the details, I watched her eyebrows rise higher and higher on her head until they almost disappeared into her hairline.

“So your miracle worker of a secretary managed to narrow down your impossibly large suspect list to just two people, based entirely on a pair of shoes? Where can I get one of her?”

“Sorry, Rita’s one of a kind. If you want her, you’re gonna have to win her over the hard way. Also, I helped!”

“Sure, you did, Steel. Sure you did.”

“Yeah, yeah. Here are the suspect files- I’ll let you decide which one you want to tail.” She opened the first file, nodded as she skimmed it, and opened the second. Her expression flattened.

“Steel, this woman is older than my grandmother.”

“Yeah, but look at the photo, she has a devious look in her eyes.”

“Oh, you’re right. Clearly a hardened criminal.”

“Who has the most motive to steal bits from a de-ageing machine though? Probably not the guy who’s already in the prime of his life, even if he is more physically capable of breaking and entering.”

“Or, it’s neither of them.”

“Or it’s neither of them, in which case I am wasting my time, your time, and my client’s money. But in the end, that’s it- there’s no lives at stake, and the stolen objects are things the museum didn’t even know they had.”

“That is surprisingly mature of you, Steel. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I’m full of surprises, I guess.” Strong hums thoughtfully, and flips through the two files before coming to a decision.

“I’ll follow Fontaine.”

“Sounds good, why him?”

“Because that means you’re stuck following the retired old woman, who is probably going to spend most of her time sitting alone at home. And I know how much you _love_ sitting around doing nothing while on a stake out.”

“Ah.”

\-----

I spent the next day tailing Majors as she went about her day, doing seemingly meaningless chores: she went to the bank, went clothes shopping, so on and so forth. It wasn’t until late afternoon that she did anything unusual. I followed her to an extremely shady-looking parking garage, and watched as she walked up to and unlocked the back of a large van.

She opened and checked through a couple boxes, but I was too far away to see what was inside them. The van also contained a bunch of tarps and digging tools. All in all, I figured that this counted as suspicious activity. I… had kind of expected this whole tailing thing to last longer before I encountered any sort of evidence.

I made my way towards the van, hiding behind other parked vehicles and staying low to the ground to avoid being seen. Right as Majors was about to close the back of the van, their comm started ringing, interrupting them mid-movement. With a sigh, they answered it. I took the opportunity to call Rita.

“Boss-“

“Rita, no time. I think that Cynthia Majors is about to drive off somewhere, and I don’t have a way to follow her if she does. Can you track a comm even if it’s turned off?”

“Generally no, but I started putting a tracking device inside your comms _years_ ago.”

“What? Ok, we’re talking about _that_ later, but for now, I’m going to turn off my comm and put it in her vehicle. I want you to track it, alright?”

“Alright, boss. Do you want me to send you a taxi to bring you back to the office?”

“Yes, please. Ok, I’ve got to do it now or I’m going to miss my chance.” I quickly turned off my device. Majors had left the back doors open and had drifted a little ways away from the van, engrossed in their conversation. I quickly made my way to the back, slid my comm between one of the boxes and the wall of the vehicle, and slipped back into the shadows.

Not too long after, Majors ended their call and returned. She slammed the rear doors shut, got into the front seat, and drove off.

The taxi arrived ten minutes later.

Once I got back to the office, things were hectic as I scrambled to follow my suspect. I used Rita’s comm to contact Strong and keep her updated, made use of my (read: Rita’s) connections to find someone willing to let me borrow their car, and took the comm system the big guy had given me out of the safe, to use until I can get my normal set back. I let Rita upload the tracking information into it before I left- reminding myself to talk to her later about personal boundaries and not tracking your coworkers without their knowledge.

The van’s coordinates led me out of the dome and into the desert. After about an hour of driving at slightly-above-safe speeds, I arrived at where the van had been sitting for a while. It was an ancient Martian structure, and it looked familiar. After a moment, I realized that the reason for that was that it was the one I had looked at photos of last night while I was researching Majors- the one she had visited on her last dig.

It wasn’t hard to find where the van was parked- even dirty, the white paint stood out among the rust-colored sand. I slowly drove over to it, hoping that the suspect wasn’t still inside their vehicle and that my borrowed car wasn’t making too much noise and giving away my presence.

The van was unlocked, but though I thoroughly searched the back- even going so far as to check the sand around the van- I couldn’t find my comm. The van was also emptier than I remembered seeing it, so whatever was in here, Majors had already moved it.

There was a possibility that I misremembered, and had put the comm _inside_ one of the boxes instead of behind it, and the old woman had just unknowingly carried it into the tomb with her. I did my best to ignore the other possibility, that Majors had found the comm and knew I was coming.

After all, it was just an old woman. What did I have to worry about?

I went quietly down into the structure, ignoring the feeling of déjà vu that the action evoked, and followed the distant, barely audible sounds that were coming from deeper down. Soon I came across a section of wall that looked very recently opened up, like there had been a hidden door that someone got impatient with and just smashed in.

I continued creeping through the revealed tunnel and ignored all the shut, dusty doors that I passed. There was a room further down the hall with doors opened, dimly illuminated. Not noticing the sudden silence, I approached it.

Inside was a huge, dark stone block, almost indistinguishable from the one in the museum except that this one was in better shape. This one also differed in that the room it was in was full of semi-translucent, almost fragile looking crystal pillars covered in the same geometric metal patterns and more writing. It was from these pillars that the faint light seemed to be coming from. The compartment on top of the block was open, and tools and pieces were scattered across it’s surface.

And that was all I was able to take in before movement in the corner of my eye startled me.

Majors- who had apparently been expecting me- had crept up behind me from her hiding spot near the door, a sledgehammer clenched in her hands. My own hand reached for my gun but I hesitated. That moment of hesitation was all it took for the woman to rush at me faster than a lady her age had any right to.

I managed to disarm her and knock her to the ground, wincing at the sound she made as she collapsed. She didn’t move for the longest time, so I knelt down to check if she was still alive. As I did so, she sat up, and I only had time to realize that she was holding a rock before it slammed into my temple and everything went black.

\----

So that pretty much brings me to where I am now. I don’t know how long I was unconscious for, but it was long enough for her to drag me into what was probably one of the dusty abandoned rooms I had passed on my walk down the hallway and tie me up.

She didn’t tie me up particularly well, fortunately for me, so I probably wouldn’t have even needed to use the blade I had inside my sleeve to get loose- though I used it anyways for the sake of speed. Once I had gotten free from my bindings, I made my way over to the door, using my comm as a light source.

The bigger problem, apparently, was that the door was shut and the interior console to open it was smashed. I honestly wasn’t sure if it would be possible for me to get out on my own. Without the control panel it was impossible to open from my side, and even without a concussion breaking down a five hundred pound door was a bit beyond my ability.

On the bright side, even though I couldn’t make any calls from my comm while this deep underground, when I didn’t make it back from this location by some time tomorrow, Rita would send Strong to make sure I was okay. I didn’t have to worry about dying of dehydration in Martian ruins. And even if the room didn’t have some sort of ventilation- which was unlikely- the room was big enough that I probably had at least a week before I’d suffocate.

Unfortunately, even though I now had confirmation that Majors was in fact the thief, and even had a good idea of what she planned to do with the components she had stolen, I had no way to stop her.

She almost certainly thought that by repairing and activating this device, she’d regain her youth and live for decades longer than expected. This was likely a last-ditch effort by a desperate woman afraid of dying.

I, on the other hand, was certain that whatever this machine did was _not_ as straightforward as de-aging. I was more experienced than most people with mysterious ancient Martian technology, and from what I’ve seen, activating that technology has never worked out well for the people involved.

But there was nothing I could do about it from in here.

I spent hours scouring the room for some way out, to no avail. I resigned myself to waiting, leaning against the wall through which I could faintly hear Majors at work fixing the device.

I guess I had, at some point, dozed off. Not advisable when suffering from a head injury, I know, but sitting in the dark for hours waiting is _tiring_.

I awoke to a strange, staticky feeling in the air. My head was pounding. I struggled to my feet, knowing that something was wrong. I quickly realize that the quiet sounds of Majors working had stopped, replaced with an odd humming. Not quite musical, more… resonant.

 _She did it._ The realization came to me slower than it should have, probably as a result of my concussion.

The resonance grew louder.

A sudden pain shot through my head, focused around my missing eye. I would have passed it off as a phantom pain, a memory, if it weren’t for the unique situation I was currently in.

The resonance grew even louder, making it impossible to think. I collapsed in agony as the pain intensified as well. _Was I screaming?_ Yes, but there was something else too. Confused shouting from the hallway.

The door opening- _light_. My head was full of thoughts now- but not because it was suddenly possible for me to think. _These thoughts weren’t mine,_ but they wrapped around each other, _overlapped each other_ , a strange _but so familiar_ cacophony of noise.

 _Someone’s standing over me now._ Old. _Confused._ She’s talking, but I can’t hear it. Not over _all the other noise._

They touch my face gingerly, and withdraw their hand _. It’s red. Why?_

My vision is fading, but the noises are getting impossibly louder. Through them, I can almost hear an old woman’s voice, spewing apology after apology. But not quite.

_The resonance reaches its crescendo._

My vision is gone, now. But I haven’t blacked out- I can still feel everything, still hear everything.

Then, a single voice. So familiar in a way that makes me nauseous, but that with my brain in shambles I couldn’t say why.

**_“Hello, Juno Steel. You took my pill, didn’t you.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is! We're in it now. Juno's back to the end of the Prince of Mars case, right after he took the pill, if that was unclear.
> 
> Why that moment? It wasn't just to make his life difficult, there were actual reasons too. I'll explain eventually, but feel free to theorize.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I got distracted with a few other things and this story got put on the backburner for a while. That should be the longest gap between chapters you ever have to put up with for this story, author's promise.

“Mista Steel! Hello! Are you asleep, or just hoping I’m gonna leave?”

“…Does it make a difference?”

“Oh, good! You’re awake! I can’t wait much longer. I just had to update you on that... _business_.”

“I thought I had told you to never say that again.” Awareness came back to me in increments. All I could feel was a bone deep soreness and exhaustion, and the knowledge that something wasn’t quite right. As I sat up and took in my surroundings, I realized that I was in a hospital room, and standing by my bedside was Rita, who now had a confused and concerned expression on her face.

“Uh… not that I can remember? Are you feelin’ alright, boss?” Even disoriented as I was, I managed to throw her a look that I think conveyed fairly well how I felt about _that_ question. “Right, right, of course he’s not feelin’ alright, Rita, he’s in the hospital! He wouldn’t be in the hospital if he were feelin’ alright.”

She reached over and felt my forehead, as though feeling for a fever. I went cross-eyed trying to watch her hand as it approached, and was once again hit with a feeling that something was _off_. Stronger this time.

I’ve never been one to ignore a gut feeling- okay, so maybe that wasn’t _entirely_ true. Things never went well when I ignored a gut feeling, though, _that_ was for certain. My first, awful thought was that I had a Soul on me again- I knew it didn’t _make sense_ , but nonetheless my hand flicked to my chest to check. I couldn’t _feel_ anything through the thin material of the hospital gown, and I _wasn’t_ about to strip down in front of Rita no matter how paranoid I felt.

I vaguely heard Rita say something to me about not having a fever, but I wasn’t really paying attention. It felt like everything around me was happening in slow motion, or maybe that _I_ was moving at a million miles per hour. There was just a… _disconnect_ between myself and my surroundings that I wasn’t sure how to put into words.

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._ The word repeated in my head, but I didn’t know _why_. It made sense that I would be in the hospital, after all. After-

And then I _remembered_. That explosion of noise, that threatening voice. Had it just been a flashback? _No_. The pain had been real enough. If it was a hallucination, it was the most _realistic goddamn hallucination_ I had ever heard of.

But Miasma was _dead_. There was _no way_ I could have heard her voice in my head, not unless that Ancient Martian boulder had the power to bring people back to life after being atomized.

Just thinking about that day made me rub my right eye and wince in remembered pain.

And then my speeding thoughts came to a violent halt.

When I moved my hand those last few centimeters to rub at the ache, I had _expected_ to feel nothing but the soft give of muscle and scar tissue under my lid, just like every other time I’d touched it since the THEIA had been removed. Instead, my knuckle met something a bit more solid. Not the solid of a prosthetic either, but something more… _organic_. And when I opened that lid to find that I could see the hand _directly front of me_ , even though it was on my _right_ side and should have been just _barely_ in my periphery?

I’d _like_ to say I responded reasonably.

…Instead what happened was that, over the course of what felt like a century but what was probably just a few seconds, I experienced a horrible, twisting rollercoaster of feelings that took my breath away. Denial, hysterical glee, confusion, _more_ denial, _more_ confusion, and finally a horrible, aching numbness.

At the same time as all that was happening, I distantly realized that I had started hyperventilating and was clutching at my eye. I was just… completely overwhelmed. In between gasps for air, all I could choke out were the occasional ‘what the fuck’ and ‘this can’t be real’. I think Rita must have called for a nurse, or maybe my vitals were so haywire that an alarm went off. I couldn’t really register anything happening around me through the black spots in my vision and the thundering of my pulse in my ears, but there were definitely more people around my bed than there had been before.

Consciousness didn’t stick around too long, after that. I passed out, my last thought being that I hoped things would make more sense when I woke up.

\----

Spoiler alert, they didn’t.

I woke up an unknown amount of time later, still disoriented but in considerably less pain than either of the other two times I awoke after passing out in the past… however long it had been since I first got to those damned ruins. The only illumination in the room were dim beams of artificial lights coming through the window, and the hospital was much quieter than it had been before, so it was almost certainly the middle of the night.

Rita was still there, though, eyes red from crying and sitting in a chair by my bed. She had headphones in, and was watching something on her comm, so she hadn’t noticed I was awake yet. She looked absolutely exhausted.

I reached up and gently poked my right eye, checking that it was still there and that its presence earlier wasn’t just a dream. _Ow_. Yeah, no, it was definitely still there. Laying there in the dark, with my best friend beside me and my previously missing organ somehow miraculously whole and healthy again, I felt the last vestiges of that awful emotional numbness fade, and be replaced by something that was less _acceptance_ and was more along the lines of ‘my life is already so goddamn weird, this might as well happen’.

“ _Rita_.” I said. Well, tried to say, anyways- my voice was raspy and quiet, my throat dry. I swallowed and tried again. “Rita.” Still no response- how loud did she have the volume on that comm?

I sighed and reached towards her, rolling on my side and leaning to do so. Even then I couldn’t quite reach her, but the movement alone was enough to draw her attention from her screen. She gasped, the device falling out of her hands to the floor with a clatter.

“Mista Steel! You’re awake! Oh, I’m so _so SO_ sorry for earlier boss, I dunno what I did but I _know_ it had to have been my fault because I touched you and you went all weird after but I _swear_ I didn’t mean to and I know I shoulda gone home already but I _had_ to stay because what if you woke up and I was gone and _you thought_ I did it to ya on purpose and got mad at me, so I begged the nurses and they said they would let me stay but I could _tell_ it was a close one, ya know? And-“

“Rita. Stop. _Please_.” She flinched at my words, wringing her hands anxiously as she paced nearer my bed.

“Oh you _are_ mad, I knew it, but you gotta listen-“ I sighed, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed carefully.

“Ooh, you shouldn’t be getting up, boss! The nurses said…” Rita trails off as I gently reached out and pulled her into a hug. Sitting as I was, Rita was at just the right height that I could rest my chin on her shoulder. After a moment of stunned silence, her arms wrapped around me as she returned the hug. We stayed like that, quiet, for a bit, before I pulled back. I did my best to keep my expression stern but kind as I began to talk.

“Rita, it _wasn’t_ your fault. At all. And I appreciate you staying to make sure I’m okay, but you need to go home and sleep, okay?” At my prompting, she nodded hesitantly. “Good. Now, before you go, I do need you to catch me up to speed on things. I’ve spent a lot of time unconscious recently, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, right! I meant to catch you up earlier, but… _yeah_.” She cleared her throat and straightened her glasses as she began, and all I could do was listen quietly. My stomach tightened the longer she talked.

“So you’ve been out for a few days, but the nurses say you should be able to leave real soon. The HCPD found some _real interestin’_ stuff in that building you and Strong were investigating, and I mean the _‘enough evidence to get the Prince of Mars outta Hoosegow’_ kinda interestin’. Including- and you are _not_ gonna believe this one-“

_Try me_ , I thought to myself, doing my best to keep a straight face. This was impossible, right? This couldn’t be happening- things like this didn’t happen outside of fiction. But the eye… the voice… and now this conversation?

“ _Teleporters!_ A whole _room_ of ‘em! And one of ‘em had Anthony DiMaggio’s blood on it! Guess you were wrong about that one, huh boss?”

“I… guess so. Martian Tech, right?” I already knew the answer, of course. I really, _really_ wanted to be able to talk to Rita about the situation I seemed to be in- I needed her to laugh and tell me _Oh, I really got ya this time boss! You really fell for the ol’ ‘time traveler’ prank, huh?_ so that I could laugh too, and we could go back to the office and everything would be fine.

But there was a chance, and not a small one either, that this _wasn’t_ a prank. I never told Rita what Miasma said to me that moment after I took the pill, and putting me through experimental eye surgery without my consent while I was unconscious for a prank would be extreme even for her. And if this wasn’t a prank… I _really_ needed to not end up in a mental institution because the people around me think I’ve been driven insane by Martian super-pill poisoning.

“Exactly! Oh, it’s so exciting, isn’t it? I wonder what other tech of theirs is out there that we haven’t found yet- maybe a time machine! Oh man, I’d _love_ to be able to use a time machine!”

And _god_ , she looked just as earnest as I remembered her being as she said that. No sign of that sneaky, not-at-all subtle expression she gets whenever she’s doing something she shouldn’t be. That was the last nail in the coffin of my desperate _this-is-just-a-prank_ theory.

“You really think the Ancient Martians could have figured out time travel?” I tried to keep my expression casually interested, I really did, but I think some of my anxiety must have leaked through because Rita’s expression, though still bright and excited, seemed a bit dulled from before- possibly due to concern.

“I mean, if anybody could, it’d be them, right? I mean, I know lotsa people say it can’t be done, but they said that about teleporters too, and look! Plus, there’s so many streams and radio shows and books and stuff about it, it’s gotta have _some_ basis in reality, right?”

It absolutely did not, but I wouldn’t tell her that even if I didn’t know firsthand that it was real. _Hopefully_ Rita is as open to the idea of time travel as she seems, because as soon as I get out of this hospital I’m going to be telling her a whole lot of truly unbelievable things.

“Oh! Back on topic- so the Prince isn’t off the hook just yet, just on house arrest till the trial, but with everything they found he’s practically already free. And _one_ more thing- you had a… _guest_ …” She winked dramatically at me. “Show up earlier, but she left when she found out you passed out again. She’ll probably be back tomorrow, though!”

“Alright, thanks Rita. Now, go home, get some rest, and then come back tomorrow and help me get the _hell_ out of here, because there are some things I really need to talk to you about and this _isn’t_ the place to talk about them. Okay?”

“But, boss-“

“Please, Rita.” She hesitated, looking me over carefully before finally agreeing. She gathered her stuff up, carefully looked over her dropped comm for cracks, and gave me one more quick hug before finally leaving.

It wasn’t until the door had been closed for about a minute and I was sure she was gone that I let myself fall apart.

What the fuck. _What the fuck_. Time travel, _really_? If you’d asked me last week if I thought it was possible, I’d have said no. But here I am, in a world where I still have both eyes and Miasma is still running around transmitting death threats into people’s heads.

I’m not the first person who’s ever laid in bed late at night and thought about what I would do differently, if I could go back and do it all again. But… I _might_ be the first person to _actually_ get the chance to _go back and do it all again_. That’s… a lot of pressure.

I’ve made more mistakes than most people, admittedly, so there’s a lot of things I’d like to change. But how far can change I things before I tread into dangerous territory? Am I morally obligated to leave certain events alone? Can I change things at all without causing some weird paradox?

It’s thoughts like those that make me glad I already decided I would tell Rita. Having another person to talk to, and make decisions with, should be enough to keep me from feeling like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

I mentally made a list of things I’d like to change, if at all possible, ranked from most to least important.

At the very top of the list, mentally bolded and underlined, had to be the Newtown incident. That was pretty much entirely my fault, right? If I just stayed out of things, would Ramses have been doomed to fail? Or had the old man’s manipulation of me just been icing on the cake- would he have succeeded even without my interventions on his behalf?

And was I being selfish by wanting to stop him? Like, obviously the Soul thing was awful, as was the extermination of the rabbits in the sewers, and kicking people out of their homes… Okay, actually? I felt a lot less conflicted after giving it literally any thought. That was a lot of bad, regardless of how _‘nice’_ the end result was. Ends _do not_ justify the means, no matter what O’Flaherty thought.

Next on the list was Miasma. She had been dealt with cleanly by the bomb last time, so I could probably just let that situation play out without changing too much- with the exception of the whole _‘losing my eye’_ problem, of course. Even if I remembered enough about the specifics of what she did during the months between now and when we met to interfere early, I’d then be running the risk of making her curious about how I knew as much as I did. That didn’t feel like a great idea.

And then there was Vespa and Buddy. That was… a rough one. I had no way of knowing if Buddy was even _on planet_ right now, and Vespa… Vespa probably _was_ , but last time she didn’t believe that Buddy was alive when the woman was standing right in front of her. A stranger telling her that, with no proof? It was going to do all of jack shit. All I could really do would be to leave a note for Buddy in the Lighthouse, and hope that she not only _finds it_ , but _believes it_ enough to investigate my claims for herself. I owed it to her to at the very least _try_ to reunite her with the love of her life a little early, regardless of the possible consequences to events further down the line. And if it came down to it, and Buddy confronted me about how I knew what I did, I _would_ tell her about the time travel. Even in the _incredibly_ likely case that she didn’t believe me, I wasn’t as concerned about _her_ thinking I was crazy as I was _Rita_ , or… anyone else close to me.

Further down the list, below the life and death situations, and the repayment of Buddy’s kindness in the past- _or is it future?-_ was the fact that last time around I systematically destroyed _every single relationship_ in my life except for my friendship with Rita. I wasn’t super concerned about how I was going to fix most of them- those relationships falling apart had been almost entirely the fault of my excessive self-deprecation and unhealthy attachment to my job, and I had changed and grown a whole lot since then.

I could even fix things with Nureyev.

I… wasn’t sure if I wanted to, though. Okay, that’s obviously a lie. I definitely _wanted_ to. I had missed him ever since I closed the door behind me that night- missed his stupidly sharp smile, the otherworldly smell of his cologne, I had even missed that smug expression he makes that lets you know when he either knows something no one else in the room does, or he wants you to _think_ he does. I missed the way he said my name like it was his favorite word in any language in the entire universe.

It was _because_ I wanted to so badly that I felt like I _shouldn’t_. Like I deserved to have a second chance with everything _else_ , but to use my situation to undo the damage I did to my relationship with Nureyev was cheating somehow. Even if I told him about the time travel, about the future-

(Which I already knew I would-I couldn’t keep a secret _this_ big from him, even if I wanted to. Not only would the thief know _immediately_ that something was up, I’d prefer to have his head for strategy helping me when it comes to figuring out how to use my weird future knowledge to fix things.)

-and he somehow _still_ wanted me to be by his side… I know I would wake up every day wondering whether I was abandoning the memory of _my_ Nureyev, the Nureyev I had left to wake up alone in that bed, to be with _this_ version. Whether a relationship where one half knows _so much more_ about the other than they should was inherently manipulative and unbalanced.

That didn’t mean I was going to let things go the same way as they did last time. Peter Nureyev, the most incredible person I’ve ever met and likely will _ever_ meet, deserved more than a half-assed confession of love and an empty bed. This time, I was going to put on my grown-up pants and have an honest conversation with him, no matter how difficult or painful I found it.

Of course, that conversation will probably have to wait until _after_ Miasma is dealt with. Based on how things went last time, by the time I should be seeing him again, the two of us will be on a tight schedule, facing life-threatening danger after life-threatening danger- there’ll barely be enough time to explain the _time travel situation_ , let alone have a heart to heart discussion.

_Rita, Buddy, Nureyev._ I had three people that I would trust enough to tell the truth, at least as far as I knew it, about what was going on. Three people I could, hopefully, get advice from about what to do with this sudden and impossible burden of knowledge. Even if sharing that knowledge meant that two out of the three would almost certainly leave, it also meant that I wasn’t going to be doing this entirely alone.

So, with something that was almost a plan in mind, and with hope and dread at war in my chest, I turn over in the uncomfortable hospital bed and try to get some rest.

Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very eventful chapter, I know. I had a few options as far as how I would approach this chapter, and this one felt right, even though I normally hate chapters that take place 80% in someone's head. But Juno does like his monologues. This should be the last dull chapter for a while, though, if that helps.


End file.
